


time lapse video of a flower unfurling in the light

by Amber



Category: Mr. Robot (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Body Worship, M/M, Smut Swap 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2020-01-06 20:16:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18395591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amber/pseuds/Amber
Summary: Elliot and Leon on the run. PWP.





	time lapse video of a flower unfurling in the light

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GloriousGoblinQueen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GloriousGoblinQueen/gifts).



"Cuz, you need to get _laid_ ," Leon says one night. They're in this roach-house of a motel in PA, and Elliot has been awake for well over twenty-four hours, shadows dark beneath his eyes even in the sickly luminescence of his laptop screen.

Elliot's response is a short, dismissive breath out his nose, and Leon shakes his head. "Shit, I mean it. I know I ain't gonna get you to go to bed, but you need to re _lax_." This nets a derisive stare, and Leon holds up a hand. "Whatever, I know. You think they comin' after us. Nobody even knows we're gone yet. Once we make Chicago and get in touch with my boy he'll handle shit."

"It's not that simple," Elliot says flatly. "We can't trust your Dark Army connections. And we can't trust me."

"'Cause of the other guy?" Leon shakes his head and hops off the bed, goes to rummage through his bag. "Maybe you shouldn't be online then, cuz. Only needs a few seconds to send an e-mail to the wrong people."

"I don't know where we are," Elliot says — they made sure of that — but they also both know he could send enough internet metadata that having the real address wouldn't matter. He sighs and shuts his laptop, puts it aside. Watches as Leon pulls out his weed from wherever he stashed it and starts to set up for rolling a joint.

"So back to my original point," he says, practically feeling Elliot's gaze on the agile movements of his fingers. "I can go find us some nice girls to have a good time with — or just one if you wanna play that way. Smoke some weed, tap some ass, chill the fuck down for a minute."

Elliot just shakes his head. "No girls. It's not safe."

"You are one paranoid motherfucker," Leon tells him expressively, licks the joint, watches Elliot watching him. "You fuck with that gay shit? Never seemed like the type in prison, but if you don't mind where your bj's buttered, I gotchu."

That seems to surprise Elliot. It's not totally obvious, but Leon's good at reading people, can see it in those furtive looks. 

"Okay," Elliot says after a beat, shoulders drawn inwards. Uncertain. "I'd... that sounds good." He doesn't blush, but there's more embarrassment in him than there was. Is it because of the homosexuality? Because of Leon? Something else?

"Smoke first," Leon decides. "Then play. You are wound _tight_." Tighter now that he's agreed, which is no good at all. Antithetical to the point. Leon lights up, but only takes a short draw before passing it over. Elliot accepts with easy fingers.

The weed is good, makes his mind go bright and slow, makes him think a lot about the nature of what they're doing here. Not quite in an anxious way, just philosophical, wondering if maybe fleeing for their lives is why this suddenly seems so appealing.

"You ever wonder what happened to Carla?" Elliot asks him, and it takes Leon a moment before:

"From prison?"

"Yeah."

Leon doesn't, really, but Elliot had been closer to her than he was. "Hopefully she got moved to a women's prison," he says. "I fixed her up with some HRT not long before the end, 'cause she did me a couple favors." Mostly protecting Elliot, informing on Elliot.

"I always meant to go back and visit her," Elliot says. "Now it's probably too late."

There's something sad in his voice and that isn't the vibe Leon is going for here, so he moves closer, up to the end of the bed where Elliot is all folded up. Takes the end of the joint from his fingers and puts it in the ashtray on the night stand. Then plucks at the material of his black hoodie. 

"Why you always wearing this goth shit," he says. "When we settle I'm gonna get you some color." Kneewalks in closer, and Elliot is looking at him wide-eyed, waiting, not sure what to expect. 

Leon drops his hands to the belt of Elliot's jeans and he looks away, the walls going up again. "Hey," Leon says softly, getting immediately that if he makes this perfunctory Elliot is just gonna go away in his head somewhere. "Hey, can I kiss you?"

That gets Elliot's attention back on him, those sharp eyes that are never properly grey or green or blue. "Sure," he agrees.

Leon isn't gentle about it, because where's the fun in that, just takes his cheek and drags him in. And it turns out Elliot isn't as fragile as he seems, because he doesn't shatter at a touch, responds immediately and fervently to a mouth on his. He's hungry for it, Leon realizes, and he wonders just how long it's been since Elliot had anyone to touch him. They kiss and kiss, sloppy teeth and tongue, Leon giving as good as he gets. Both of them frantic with the need to ruck aside clothes, total counterpoint to the sweet haze of marijuana and arousal setting like a pall over them.

That goth ass hoodie gets thrown to the side, and Leon strips him of his shirt too, runs hands all over the bony skin of him. Elliot shudders and makes a low noise. "I," he manages, voice more hoarse than usual, "Can we turn the lights off or something?" 

Leon breaks back from exploring the long line of his neck to lift brows at him. "You shy? No need for that." He kisses Elliot's shoulder. "Lie back baby," he murmurs, voice as chocolate as he can get it. Suddenly this is about more than just relaxing Elliot. When he pins Elliot down into the bed it's so he can press reverent kisses along his collarbone, hot down his torso. Sucks a nipple to watch it go tight and says, "Look at that, huh? So responsive and good for me."

Elliot groans, winds his hands into the bedsheets. "Leon..."

"Yeah, keep saying my name," agrees Leon, kissing his ribs, his belly. Tonguing around his navel and following the sparse hair below it downwards, then just as Elliot thinks maybe he's moving on to the main course, diverting to bite bruises into his sharp hipbones. "You like that?" he teases, and Elliot makes noises of agreement, breath coming fast and rough. 

It's a while before Leon finally gets his pants off, jeans and boxers and all, Elliot's cock so hard it slaps up upon being released, bowed enough the head kisses skin. Leon thinks he's beautiful — he's been on his knees for a lot of men but so rarely are they flung apart like this, willingly vulnerable. He nudges Elliot to get his legs spread wider, then starts around about his knee, kissing and biting up the delicate skin of his inner thigh.

Elliot sneaks a hand down as if to cover himself and Leon says, "Uh uh, no, none of that. Hands over your head." Stops him messing with the hair, too, and lets Leon set his own pace, his own meandering path to Elliot's cock. "Don't be shy," he whispers against his balls. "You're gorgeous."

Elliot bites back a response, but Leon is used to his quiet. Wonders if it's noisier in that head of his. What he'd write if he had another diary. 

When he finally takes Elliot in his mouth it's no less worshipful than his other kisses. He sucks the crown through the wet inside of his lips, just tasting, then lets him slide deeper, sit heavy on his tongue.

The noise Elliot makes is high-pitched, and Leon thinks he wants to drag that sound out of that skinny chest over and over.

It's noisy as he sucks hard and draws back, all vacuum sealed pressure around Elliot's erection, getting him harder, getting him blood-dark and twitching when his cock finally pops from Leon's greedy mouth.

"You like that?" Leon asks, a bit porno but whatever. Elliot nods. "Anyone ever suck you like that before?"

"Never," Elliot agrees, and arches taut as a drawn bow for Leon's hand and mouth reapplied.

Leon takes his time — he has a bit of a buffer with the weed, making everything feel better but the peak a little harder to grasp. Elliot writhes on the brink for about as long as they both can stand, Leon alternating between a sloppy, thorough blowjob and tender little kisses to the shaft, his thighs. Elliot's skin flushes pink-raw at the chafing of Leon's stubble, and his knuckles are white where he grips the sheets, the pillow, his own chest in helpless desperation. Up and up and up until there's nothing in his mouth but Leon's name.

Only when he begs for it real pretty does Leon let him come.

In the aftermath Elliot sinks onto his back almost in slow motion, stares up beatifically at the ceiling, one arm flung over his head. He seems loose limbed and at peace, which is all Leon wanted for him. He kisses one bony knee, pleased with himself. Says, "Yeah." to no-one in particular.

"You should get up here," Elliot suggests, and Leon does, climbs onto the bed with him and lounges like a big cat, starts rolling another joint. To his surprise Elliot shifts closer, palms down the raw sweat of one flank. Eyes still closed, he says, "I'm really glad I met you."

Leon thinks of the perils ahead of them on this mad journey, the likelihood that they'll get got by at least one of the motherfuckers out for blood. Looks at the thin skin of Elliot's eyelids, the slight curve of his bitten lips, the stark lines of his body, gold gone sallow with lack of sun and greyish in the light of the shitty motel bulb. The scars. There's still come smeared sticky over his hipbone. His breathing is slow and even.

"Same, brother," Leon agrees, the rush of his fond affection ringing clear in his voice. "Same."


End file.
